


A Morning at the Young Court

by inlovewithnight



Category: 18th Century CE Russia RPF
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Oranienbaum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 11:38:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17079635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: The Grand Duke woke early and called for Gudovich to attend to him following breakfast.





	A Morning at the Young Court

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alley_Skywalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/gifts).



The Grand Duke woke early and called for Gudovich to attend to him following breakfast. Andrei Vasilyevich, having risen from his bed even earlier to review his lord’s papers and agenda for the day, came at once, and thus cooled his heels in the corridor while the Grand Duke broke his fast and completed his ablutions.

Brockdorff, of course, joined him within moments. “He called for you as well?” Brockdorff asked, smiling faintly. “He must have a lot on his mind this morning.”

“The usual amount, I imagine.” Andrei Vasilyevich was accustomed to the Grand Duke’s whirlwinds of ideas and vacillations, and accordingly began his days braced to guide and mollify them. “Did you sleep well, Christian?”

“As well as can be expected.” Brockdorff glanced at the guards flanking the chamber door and hesitating slightly before he continued. “The Grand Duchess held revelry in her rooms until quite late.”

Andrei Vasilyevich forced himself to remain blank-faced, though a twitch at the corner of his mouth escaped him. “So I was told. I excused myself early, I’m afraid.”

“You must attend her tonight.” Brockdorff’s eyes were fixed on the guards, though his voice remained light. Andrei Vasilyevich followed his gaze, racking his own mind to place if these men were Catherine’s creatures or not. “Your continued absence will be noted.”

“Of course I have no desire to give offense.” Only to sleep, and to mollify the Grand Duke in his unhappiness. Although… no. The Grand Duke felt no unhappiness; the Grand Duke was title and figurehead, an imagined man. The unhappiness belonged to Pyotr Fyodorovich, Andrei’s lord, charge, and friend. 

“You never would.” Brockdorff glanced at him with a slight, arch smile, which Andrei Vasilyevich returned. They were men from different worlds, and in the course of ordinary life never would have encountered each other or cared to, but as it was, they had formed a delicate united front to protect the Grand Duke, and Pyotr Fyodorovich within that ducal shell, from his enemies and his impulses.

The chamber doors swung open and the valet nodded somberly to them. “The Grand Duke requests your attendance.” 

Andrei Vasilyevich swept into the room, Brockdorff at his heels, and bowed low to the Grand Duke where he sat at his breakfasting table. “My friends,” Pyotr said, smiling warmly at the sight of them. “Join me, please. There is tea, here, and I think more pastries left on that second tray. Eat, eat. Knowing you both, you’ve been up for hours, if you slept at all.”

“No need to worry about our sleep, my lord,” Andrei Vasilyevich murmured, but Brockdorff was already off in full sentence, sweeping over him.

“Goodness, Karl, you look like you’ve hardly slept in days. Are you taking care of yourself at all? Don’t stay up all night fretting about that woman, there’s nothing to be done about her and well you know it.”

Andrei Vasilyevich braced himself slightly; careless language regarding the Grand Duchess was a dangerous game for Brockdorff to take up. If the guards at the door _were_ among her group of pets, then they would surely report back to her, and Brockdorff could find himself headed for the border again by sundown.

Pyotr didn’t seem concerned in the slightest, though. “It’s fine, Christian. Don’t trouble yourself. I feel quite well; in fact, I sent for you both hoping you might go for a walk with me this morning.”

“A walk?” Brockdorff echoed blankly, his gaze darting toward Andrei as if for assurance that he had heard what he thought. Andrei Vasilyevich, unable to provide any additional clarification, only nodded to indicate that he had heard the word _walk_ as well.

“I have this palace with lovely grounds, and I rarely enjoy them.” Pyotr shook his head and set his teacup down with a definitely click. “Today I intend to. I’ve even sent for a lunch for the three of us.”

Andrei Vasilyevich cast about in his mind for the idea of something more odd and awkward than the Grand Duke, his chamberlain, and his childhood friend-cum-hanger-on spending the morning walking about the grounds of the Grand Menshikov Palace at Oranienbaum, and then eating sandwiches while overlooking the channel leading out to the Gulf.

They would certainly be the talk of the Young Court by mid-afternoon, he reflected. It would give the Grand Duchess’ salon a new topic to which to set their claws.

“Yes, Christian, a walk,” Pyotr said, then turned his gaze to Andrei Vasilyevich. “You agree, don’t you, Gudovich? It’s a fine way to pass the morning. Some air. Some sun.”

Andrei Vasilyevich continued to reflect, silently, that it was both charming and slightly maddening that a great man and a Grand Duke, to say nothing of a future emperor, would prefer to walk out with heat and insects and dirt rather than remain in the splendid palace fitting to his status. One forgave foibles in those same great men and Grand Dukes, of course. “Yes, my lord,” he said aloud. “A very fine activity for the morning.”

“Good!” Pyotr rose to his feet, and the valet appeared from the shadows in the corner with Grand Ducal jacket in hand. “We’ll begin right away, then. Come along, Christian, bring the tea with you if you like. We can speak of work a bit while we walk, but I want to stop before lunch. I’m to play cards with Elizaveta this afternoon and I want my mind to be clear to enjoy it.”

Brockdorff and Andrei Vasilyevich locked eyes again in mutual mild agony; the Vorontsova girl was a constant thorn in the side of everyone who wished the Grand Duke well. If nothing else, her influence on his language was appalling. No man who struggled with the basics of verbs in his second language should be so fluent in its curses.

“Of course you should attend to Elizaveta Romanovna with a light heart and clear mind,” Andrei Vasilyevich said flatly. “I have one or two matters to discuss, and then we can walk without troubling ourselves.”

“Wonderful!” Pyotr swept out of the room, and his friends followed, both silently making a point of squaring their shoulders and lifting their chins as they stepped into the corridor and they became attendants of the Grand Duke rather than those friends at all. 

The grounds of the Grand Menshikov Palace were, of course, beautiful, as was all of Oranienbaum; the Grand Duchess would never have consented for the Young Court to settle anywhere shabby or dull. Andrei Vasilyevich held himself a pace behind Brockdorff and the Grand Duke, who had lost their courtly French for the German of their youth. From their hand gestures and the odd word caught here and there, they were reminiscing about similar walks they’d taken as boys, and perhaps hunting in the forests near Kiel. Andrei Vasilyevich was fairly certain he saw a mimed gunshot or two in the conversation. 

By the time they reached the channel to the Gulf, Andrei Vasilyevich was quite relaxed despite himself. Perhaps taking the air occasionally was better than remaining bent over his desk or chasing about the palace at the Grand Duke’s heels; certainly it was more restful than worrying about what the Grand Duchess might be up to in her salon, or waiting on pins and needles for a reply to his letters to the Old Court on when Empress Yelisaveta might desire for them to return to St. Petersburg.

“Why, Gudovich, I believe I’ve caught you in a smile.” The Grand Duke clapped Andrei Vasilyevich on the back. “Splendid! I’d hardly hoped for so much when I suggested this outing.”

It was not quite right for a chamberlain to find his lord and master to be a darling man, but Andrei Vasilyevich had long accepted that he couldn’t strike the feeling from his heart. “Of course, your Grace.”

The Grand Duke pointed up the path, where two servants were struggling along with a picnic basket and a blanket for the grass. “See, we’ll lunch here, and then take the other path back to the palace. I’ll be just in time to join Elizaveta for cards, and you two can return to your duties with light hearts. What a lovely day.”

“Anything you want, Karl,” Brockdorff said, glancing at Andrei Vasilyevich with a broad smile. “As always. Gudovich and I live but to serve you and be at your side, as you well know.”

“For as long as you’ll have us,” Andrei Vasilyevich said. Perhaps his voice betrayed him a bit more than he meant, as Brockdorff met his eyes with a gaze gone suddenly serious. 

“Please, my friends, don’t be maudlin.” The Grand Duke smiled and settled on the blanket, accepting a goblet from one of the servants. “Let us enjoy our lunch and this day that God has made.”

Brockdorff’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and Andrei Vasilyevich felt a burst of pure understanding between them: they would remain with Pyotr as long as they were able, and as long as they were permitted, come what may in this strange and dismal world. At his side was where they each could find these fragile hours of sunlight.


End file.
